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An Anniversary Celebrated with a Heartfelt Thank You

Through the years of writing this column I have, upon occasion, referenced my alcoholism. Sometimes these references are humorous and sometimes they are serious, but I have always tried to be honest about my disease. Well, this Labor Day weekend marks 20 years since I had my last drink.

Like most alcoholics my problem with alcohol crept up on me. As far as I can discern, one day I was just a relatively young man who liked to drink and party and the next day my friends and family were concerned about the amount I drank. Though the transformation wasn’t this rapid, the point is that I am at a complete loss to explain when and how the change occurred (and I assume my friends and family would have the same difficulty).

While we are all unique individuals – with unique experiences, characteristics, and opinions – when we become afflicted with a disease, the disease is in control. Alcoholism is no exception: it follows a predictable pattern of development and progression. Individual alcoholics like to believe they are unique – and this can be true in the sense of individual experience(s) – but the disease never varies as it takes control of the alcoholic’s life.

In my case, the progression from people becoming concerned about my drinking to the point at which I needed to drink simply in order to physically function was rapid. This stage of alcoholism is often difficult for non-alcoholics to understand, but the simplest way to explain it is this: my body had become accustomed to having a certain level of alcohol in my bloodstream. As time passed between drinks the level of alcohol in my bloodstream would begin to drop, sending me into the early stages of withdrawal.

These withdrawal symptoms are one aspect of the disease that can vary somewhat from alcoholic to alcoholic. In my case, they included hand tremors, unsteadiness, feelings of nausea and difficulty focusing. A few beers or a couple of deep swallows from a pint of vodka and the withdrawal symptoms would disappear – for a while.

As bad as this may sound it only gets worse. Alcoholism is a progressive disease meaning that, if it is left untreated, it becomes increasingly worse. So the time between drinking and the onset of withdrawal symptoms grows shorter and shorter until the only respite for an alcoholic is sleep, which, more often than not, resembles passing out more than slumber. And while the alcoholic “rests” the alcohol level in the bloodstream drops, which causes the alcoholic to wake up before any real rest has occurred in order to drink more alcohol. And thus, the cycle continues until the liver is no longer to clean the alcohol from the blood.

Eventually, after years of denial, I came to the realization that I was, indeed an alcoholic, that alcohol consumption was going to kill me, and that I wanted to get well. Unfortunately, the disease is powerful beyond most of our understanding – mine included.

When you are in treatment, whether in-patient or out-patient (I did both), one of the first things counselors try to impress upon you is that to stop drinking is a mere five percent of the process of getting the disease under control…the other 95 percent is learning to live sober.

This concept is difficult to explain to anyone who doesn’t have firsthand experience with alcoholism or an alcoholic but the simplest summation of the idea is probably that an alcoholic, who intends to remain sober, must fundamentally change virtually every aspect of his or her life. It is an incredibly tall order, particularly when you consider the fact that a newly sober individual’s mind is really not working correctly. Years of substance abuse have changed the brain chemistry and it takes a long time – sometimes a very long time – for the brain to return to some semblance of normal.

And this is where it becomes frustrating for the alcoholic and those who care about them. In my case, it took almost five years between my acceptance of the fact that alcohol was controlling my life (and countless times, of varying length, that I would quit drinking only to relapse) before I was able to maintain my sobriety.

I often wish there were one single defining thing that I did or that changed in my life that made it possible for the sobriety to stick. Unfortunately, the reason is probably a combination of many things. I came to realize that, as a sat in my apartment detoxing the alcohol from my system once again, that I probably was not going to survive the process ever again. I had Barb in my life and a little nine-month-old boy (Andrew) who followed my every step and looked at me – regardless of the state I was in – with expectation and love. I had been graciously given the opportunity to write this column and realized that I was still capable of writing. And I was determined to see Northern Door Child Care & Learning Center (now the Northern Door Children’s Center) get a new building.

At this point you realize there is virtually nothing that I won’t share about my personal experience and battle with alcoholism. Recognition that alcoholism is a disease that will ultimately result in death if not treated, freed me from any embarrassment I may have at one time felt. I have remorse, certainly, but after 20 years of sobriety I hope I have – at this point – made the amends that past actions required.

And by being open with people about my disease I have strengthened my sobriety. At this point in my life, almost everyone in Door County knows that I simply cannot drink alcohol – I’m allergic, as they say in treatment and AA.

Because of alcoholism’s progressive nature, one drink would inevitably lead me back to full-blown alcoholism. And trust me on this one folks: going back to drinking isn’t like starting over from the beginning. In very short order alcoholics are back to a level of the disease that is even worse than when they quit, regardless of how long they have been sober.

With the exception of Sharon Anderson, who worked with me at the Door Reminder, no one who I work with at the Pulse has ever experienced me as a practicing alcoholic. And through the attrition that life naturally brings, the number of you out there reading this who remember me as a drunk is, and will continue to, decline. But I owe everyone – whether you knew me in those days or have just come to know me in the past 20 years – a tremendous debt for being able to reach this milestone.

Making you aware of my disease, in person or in this column, allows me to feel like every one of you is constantly watching to make sure I am not picking up a drink. Logically, I know it is preposterous to think all of you necessarily care, but just this once I am comfortable being illogical. And I earnestly look forward to another 20 years of sobriety, if I live that long, with personal vigilance and your continued support.